Clarence
by The Dark Knight's Revenge
Summary: Clarence "Clary" Fray is struggling enough with trying to find the right time to come out to his mom and best friend (Maybe crush) Simon, but when a ridiculously hot shadowhunter and a ton of demons show up, coming out is the last thing on Clary's mind. City of Bones written with Clary as a guy.
1. Chapter 1

"You've got to be kidding me," the bouncer said, folding his arms across his massive chest. He stared down at the boy in the in the red zip-up jacket and shook his shaved head. "You can't bring that in here."

The fifty or so teenagers in line outside the Pandemonium Club leaned forward to eavesdrop. It was a long wait to get into the all-ages club, especially on a Sunday, and not much generally happened in line. The bouncers were fierce and would come down instantly on anyone who looked like they were going to start trouble.

Fifteen-year-old Clary Fray, standing in line with his best friend, Simon, leaned forward along with everyone else, hoping for some excitement.

"Aw, come on." The kid hoisted the thing up over his head. It looked like a wooden beam, pointed at one end. "It's part of my costume."

The bouncer raised an eyebrow. "Which is what?" The boy grinned.

"I'm a vampire hunter. The stake isn't real. It's foam rubber." He bent it easily.

"Get in." The bouncer growled. Clary liked the lilt to stakeboy's shoulders, the way he tossed his hair as he went.

"What are you staring at?" asked Simon, sounding resigned. "He's just another punk." Clary dug his elbow into Simon's ribs, flushing. Simon didn't know yet.

* * *

Inside, the club was full of sweaty bodies and dry ice smoke.

"So," Simon said, "pretty good music, eh?"

Clary didn't reply, just used his height to scan around the club, looking at all the oddballs around. His eyes fell on the blue-haired guy who'd talked his way into the club. He was prowling through the crowd as if he were looking for something.

"I, for one," Simon went on, "am enjoying myself immensely."

This seemed unlikely, and Clary snorted. Simon, as always, stuck out like a sore thumb. He was wearing jeans and a MADE IN BROOKLYN t-shirt that stood in stark contrast to the metallic corsets of the group of guys nearby. He looked like he was on his way to chess club.

"Mm-hm." Clary knew perfectly well that Simon only came to pandemonium because it was something Clary liked to do. He wasn't sure what was quite so attractive about all the men in the club - passing out herbal ecstasy, dyed hair shaking all over- It was just interesting.

The blue-haired boy wandered off the dance floor, and Clary's sharp eyes followed him. When he stopped suddenly, Clary followed his line of sight and saw the girl in the white dress.

Weird, because she seemed to be the only girl in the entire place. Maybe she wasn't actually a girl.

"Meanwhile," Simon continued, "I wanted to tell you that lately I've been cross-dressing. Also, I'm sleeping with your mom."

The couple moved over to the janitor's closet, slipping inside. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, and Clary was about to look away, but then two more people followed them in. Two guys, a blonde and a brunette.

The blonde one reached into his jacket and drew out something long and sharp that flashed under the strobe lights.

"Whoa! Simon!" Clary shouted over the music.

"What?" Simon looked alarmed. "I'm not really sleeping with you mom, man. I was just trying to get your attention."

"Some dude just pulled a knife!" Clary said, pointing wildly.

"I don't see anything." Simon said bluntly, lost.

"I'm gonna go check it out." Clary said, rolling his eyes. "Wait here."

* * *

Clary pushed the janitor's door open and stepped inside. For a moment he thought it was deserted. The only windows were high up and barred.

He took a step forwards, tangling his converse in electrical wires. He bent down to free her foot and suddenly heard voices. When he straightened up, he saw that.

It was as if they had sprung into existence between blinks. There was the long-haired girl, the brunette guy, and the blonde boy who was... well, a hunk.

The blue-haired punk was tied to a pipe with what looked like piano wire. The other three loomed over him. Clary quickly ducked behind a set of boxes.

"So," the blonde boy drawled. "You still haven't told us if there are any other of you kind with you."

_Your kind? _Clary wondered. It looked as if he'd stumbled into some gang-related interrogation.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The blue-haired boy spat.

"He means other demons." Said the brunette guy. "You do know what a demon is, don't you?"

When the punk didn't respond, the blonde began pacing around.

"Demons," he said, "religiously defined as hell's denizens, the servants of Satan, but understood here, for the purposes of the Clave, to be any malevolent spirit whose origin is outside our own home dimension-"

"That's enough, Jace." said the girl.

_They're crazy, _Clary thought. _Actually crazy. _

Jace raised his hand, and Clary saw dim light spark off the knife he was holding. It was oddly translucent, the blade clear as crystal, sharp as a shard of glass.

"Valentine is back!" the punk protested, struggling. "I can tell you where he is-"

"Stop!" Clary shouted, jumping up from behind his cover. "You can't do this!"

Jace whirled, so startled that the knife flew from his hand and clattered against the floor. The other two turned as well, wearing equal expressions of surprise.

"What's this?" the brunette guy asked, livid.

"It's a boy," Jace said, recovering his composure. "Surely you've seen them before, Alec, I'm a boy. Isabelle's dated boys. You're a boy, aren't you?" He took a step closer to Clary, squinting as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "A mundie boy," he said. "And he can see us."

"Of course I can see you, asshat." Clary said. "I'm not blind, you know."

"Oh, but you are." said Jace, bending to pick up his knife. "You just don't know it." He straightened up. "You'd better get out of here, if you know what's good for you."

"I'm not leaving." Clary said. "If I do, you'll kill him."

"True." Jace replied. "But what do you care?

"You can't just go around killing people, man." Clary snorted.

"You're right," said Jace. "You can't go around killing _people_." He pointed at the boy with blue hair. "That's not a person, little man. It may look like it, but it's a monster."

"_Jace," _Said Isabelle warningly. That's enough."

"You all are nuts." Clary said. "I'm calling the cops." He pulled out his cell phone.

Just then, the blue-haired boy tore free of his restraints with a howl and launched himself at Jace. They fell to the ground and rolled together, the blue-haired boy snarling and clawing at Jace like an animal.

Clry backed up, wanting to run, but his feet caught on a loops of wiring and he fell down hard, the wind whooshing out of him.

Isabelle pulled out what looked like a snakelike whip, lashing at the blue-haired kid, who shrieked and rolled off Jace.

Quick as a flash, Jace rolled over and retrieved his blade, sinking it into the punk's chest. Blackish liquid exploded around the hilt.

Jace snarled at the convulsing body beneath him and ripped out the blade. What was left of the blue-haired boy dissolved before Clary's eyes.

Clary scrambled to his feet, backing away. There must have been something else in that dry ice smoke because he was tripping balls. He turned to flee the room, but Isabelle flicked her whip and caught him by the wrist.

"Stupid little mundie," she growled. "You could have gotten Jace killed."

"He's crazy," Clary said, trying to recover his wrist. "You're all crazy! I should call the police!"

"The police usually aren't interested unless you can produce a body." Jace said acidly, cradling his arm and eyeing the spot where he'd killed the punk. There was nothing there.

"They return to their home dimensions when they die," he continued. "In case you were wondering."

"Jace." Alec spat.

Jace rolled his eyes. A ghoulish freckling of blood and black fluid covered his face. He reminded Clary of a lion, with his wide-spaced, light-colored eyes, and that tawny gold hair.

"He can see us, Alec. He already knows too much."

"So what do we do with him?" Isabelle snapped.

"Let the little man go." Jace said quietly. Isabelle glared, but allowed the whip to slither free of Clary's arm.

"Maybe we should take him with us." Alex said. "Hodge would like to talk to him."

"No way are we bringing him to the Institute," said Isabelle. "He's a _mundie._"

"Or is he?" said Jace softly. "Have you had dealings with demons, little man? Walked with warlocks, talked with the Night Children? Have you-"

"My name is not 'little man'" Clary interrupted. "And I have no idea what you're talking about."

Jace was cut off by Simon's voice.

"Clary? What are you in here by yourself? What happened to the guys?"

Clary blinked at Simon, then turned back to Jace, who was still standing there with blood all over him and knife in hand. He grinned mockingly.

"I thought the went in here." Clary said lamely, but I guess they didn't."

* * *

"I don't believe it," Simon said stubbornly as Clary tried to hail a cab.

"I know, man." he agreed. "You'd think there'd be some cabs. Where is everyone going at midnight on a Sunday?"

"Not the cabs," Simon said. "You. I don't believe you."

"Maybe I was just tripping." Clary growled, raking a hand through his hair.

"No way. You didn't take anything this time, and I saw your face when I walked in. You looked seriously freaked out, man, like you'd seen a ghost."

"It was just my bad." Clary said tiredly. He vaguely wondered why he wasn't being completely honest with Simon. But then again, it wasn't the first time.

A taxi pulled up.

"You know you can talk to me, right Clarence?" Simon said seriously.

"Yeah, I know." Clary replied, wincing at Simon's use of his first name.


	2. Chapter 2

The dark prince sat astride his black steed, his sable cape flawing behind him. A golden circlet bound his blonde locks, his handsome face was cold with the rage of battle, and...

"And his arm looks like a fucking eggplant!" Clary swore. The drawing just wasn't working for him. He tore the sheet from his sketchpad, crumpled it up, and tossed it against the teal wall of his bedroom. Already the floor was littered with previous artistic rejects. He fiddled with the gold loop in his right ear absently.

Clary was an excellent artist, but nothing in comparison to his mom, Jocelyn. Everything _she_ painted freaking came alive whenever she touched it.

Clary pulled his headphones out, cutting off the Smiths mid-verse. He suddenly became aware of their home phone ringing loudly in the next room. He heaved himself off his bed and went to get it.

"M'yello?" He answered, flopping onto their living room couch with the cordless phone.

"Is this Clarence Fray? The voice on the other end of the phone sounded familiar, though not immediately identifiable.

"Yeeees." Clary said suspiciously.

"Hi, I'm one of the knife-carrying hooligans you met last night in Pandemonium? I'm afraid I made a bad impression and was hoping you'd give me a chance to make it up to-"

"SIMON!" Clary yelled before hanging up the phone. He fumed for a moment and waited for him to call back. Thirty seconds later, the phone rang again.

"You have no sense of humor." Simon said when Clary picked up.

"I have a sense of humor, but the crap you give me just isn't funny." Clary growled.

"Jerk." Simon said.

"Bitch." Clary replied, quoting one of their favorite TV shows to watch together. "You wouldn't be laughing if you were here when I got home last night."

"Why?"

"My mom. She wasn't happy when we were late."

"It's not our fault there was traffic!" Simon protested. He was the youngest of three children and had an acute sense of familial injustice.

"Well, she doesn't see it that way, man. You would have thought with the way she was going on that I was the utter bane of her existence or something."

"You grounded?" Simon asked.

"Don't know yet. She's with Luke this morning. You at Eric's?"

"Yeah. Just finished." Simon said, his words punctuated by a loud crash of a cymbal. "There's a poetry reading tonight at Jace Jones. You there?"

"If she lets me, I'm there." Clary replied. "Even if Eric's poetry sucks ass."

"It's not that bad..." Simon protested. "Besides, it's right around the corner from your house. It's not like we're going to a gay orgy in hoboken or something."

"I wish it was a gay orgy in hoboken." Clary said moodily.

"ORGY IN HOBOKEN!" Eric's voice came from the other end of the line, followed by a very loud crash and a drumroll.

"What did you say?" Simon said, returning to the phone after yelling at the others.

"Nothing." Clary replied. "I'll see you tonight."

Clary hung up the phone and glanced around the living room, which was covered in his mom's artwork. The most prominent picture was a framed photo of Clary's father. A thoughtful-looking fair man in military dress, his eyes bore the telltale traces of laugh lines at the corners. He'd been a decorated soldier serving overseas. Not that his medals did him any good when he wrapped his car around a tree before his son was even born.

The door opened with a thump. It was Luke, his arms full of folded cardboard boxes.

"Hey Luke." Clary said, padding past him into the kitchen for a snack.

"Hey boy." Luke said gruffly. That was his affectionate name for Clary, since Luke was forbidden by Jocelyn to call him Clary, and Luke hated Clarence.

"Where's mom?" Clary asked, grabbing a poptart out of the box on the kitchen counter.

"Parking the truck." He said, setting down his pile of cardboard and straightening up with a groan. "Remind me again, why this building doesn't have a service elevator?"

"It's old, like you." Clary said, coming back through with his poptarts and gently prodding Luke in the back of the knee as he went by. Luke retaliated by lunging and putting him in a half nelson and taking one of his poptarts and stuffing it into his mouth.

"Now, now boys..." Jocelyn's voice came from the door. She unwound her scarf and threw her keys on the table. Luke let Clary go, wiping crumbs from his beard and flannel shirt.

"Thanks for bringing the boxes up." She said to Luke. "Sorry I'm late, there weren't any parking spaces."

"What are all the boxes for?" Clary interrupted, suddenly serious.

Jocelyn bit her lip and looked away.

"Is this about last night?" Clary asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"No," his mother said quickly. "Well, maybe a little. You shouldn't have done what you did last night. You know better."

"I already apologized. Now what's this really about? If you're going to ground me, just get it the fuck over with."

"Clarence, watch your mouth." His mother snapped. "And I am not grounding oyou."

"Just tell him, Jocelyn." Luke said.

"We're going on vacation." Jocelyn said tightly, expelling a sigh. "To the farmhouse for the rest of the summer."

Clary turned on his heel, shoving his fingers through his hair.

"The summer?" He said, pivoting back, voice cracking a little. "But I have those art classes that I paid for, mom, no!"

"I'm sorry about the classes, but everything else can be cancelled."

"No!" Clary protested. "I don't want to leave!"

"I need to get away, Clarence. Money is tight right now. If I can just take some time to paint then we can sell those."

"Just sell some of Dad's crap, that's what you usually do anyhow. Or what about getting a normal job! Look, if you want to go then that's fine. I can stay here. I've already got a job lined up and I'm old enough to be on fucking own!"

"Clarence Fray, you will curb your fucking mouth!" Jocelyn screamed, tears welling up in her eyes. "You are too young to stay here by yourself, something could happen."

"Like what, I'd have my boyfriend over and he'd decide that no means yes? I'll start dating another artist who has AIDS? I'll cut myself on the god damn can opener?" Clary seethed. "Do you know how fucking impossible it is to live here with you?! Do you know why I spend most of my time out with the guys? Because I can't stand the fact that you won't even call my by the name I prefer! I'm fucking GAY and you don't even see it!"

Clary plucked up his satchel and coat from the couch and moved to the door, still breathing heavily. He had just touched the knob when the door flew open of its own accord.

"Jesus!" Clary said, jumping.

"Actually, it's just me," Simon said." "Although I've been told the resemblance is startling."

Clary rolled his eyes and shoved Simon out the door.

"Clarence, I think we need to talk about this." Jocelyn said coldly. Clary paused in the doorway, but then slammed the door behind him.


End file.
